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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045678">The Mysteries</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjoyex/pseuds/Enjoyex'>Enjoyex</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Midsommar (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Cults, F/M, Post-Canon, Suicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:13:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjoyex/pseuds/Enjoyex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dani slowly begins to recall something.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dani Ardor/Pelle (Midsommar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Mysteries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dani feels the mural behind her pillow without seeing it now. Its presence is as familiar and wraps around her as closely as her own skin. It's one of the pictures that sleeps behind her eyelids, like faces fallen in on themselves like rotted tomatoes. Like yellow t-shirts and pyramids and maypoles.</p><p>They are images that hold power. They are talismans that burn away the fear, where once they had inspired them. Dani knows better now. We embrace them in their immensity rather than flee from them.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>~~~~~~</p>
</div><p>When Dani wakes again, the sun is risen and few remain in their beds but her. It's the day before the Ättestupan, and the family is busy with preparations. Dani has not yet had this secret revealed to her, deemed too Young by Siv. She felt shameful relief upon being told, but it was relief all the same. It is Arne this year, and she does her best to open herself to the joy as well as the sorrow that has settled in the air.</p><p>She faces the wall and attunes herself to both the smiles and blood. She meditates on the serenity of all present, the man with the knife to his forearm most at ease of all. She steels herself. Dani cannot shrink from the sun above them, nor should she try. She rises and dresses herself, to leave their beds and burn the shadows away.</p><p>Outside, a circle of elders has formed around the eternal fire. They speak in hushed tones and communicate in most secret affekts, eye to eye, feeding sticks to the flames. Dani lowers her eyes and passes them, heading to the barn to share the warmth of the returned pilgrims, each giddy with excitement at the opportunity to reacquaint themselves with the family's radiant light. It is a more fitting place for her now.</p><p>She spies two young children hanging one from each arm of an indulgent older brother. Lykke plays her guitar on the lawn to a group of brothers and sisters seated at a table dragged out for the outdoor concert. One brother looks not at Lykke, but at the table itself, darting between it and his lap.</p><p>“Pelle,” Dani says. Their eyes had met briefly and they greeted each other on the occasion of his arrival yesterday, but they had not properly spoken since Midwinter. He looks up at her and smiles, and she feels the warmth and easy affection he puts out.</p><p>“What are you drawing?” She sits beside him, taking in the array of objects he's arranged in front of him on the table. A silver tureen filled with peaches, blueberries, wilting grasses and wildflower blossoms pulled from the earth hours ago.</p><p>“A still life,” he says, and he points with the eraser of his pencil. “I'm trying out the Dutch style.” Dani hums her assent, and he tilts his sketchbook, granting her permission to look at the yet unfinished drawing.</p><p>“It's very beautiful,” she tells him, “but there's something melancholy about it, too.”</p><p>Among the peaches, a single rotten one is highlighted. Its real form on the table is alive a second time with maggots.</p><p>“It's called a <em>memento mori</em>, a reminder of death. Latin,” he explains. “You see all the beautiful fruit, but the death that comes after it is there too.” Dani notices that some of the leaves he's selected for the arrangement are just beginning to become yellowed, and thinks that must be intentional.</p><p>“That's very poetic. Not at all like the botanical drawings.” It is not meant to be disparaging and Pelle does not take it that way.</p><p>“I'm a sensitive and poetic guy!” Dani smiles.</p><p>“You know, when Christian first introduced us, I was so sure you were a hipster.” He chuckles.</p><p>“Did you?” She can envision the scene in the bar. It was off Saint Marks, between a ramen burger place and a Korean cake shop. All of Christian's friends wanted Japanese food because they had just started a grad level Shinto class.</p><p>“It was probably just your long hair and beard, in retrospect. Well, and all the homemade edibles you always seemed to have. And the fact that you ordered a pickleback.” His chuckle turns into a full-bellied laugh.</p><p>“I can see why you thought the way you did, when you put it like that. When did you figure out I wasn't?”</p><p>“You never had any ironic distance from anything you enjoyed.” His mirth turns to bashfulness, and Dani feels her own face redden in response. “Not even your weird cocktail tastes.” They let the tension pass as quickly as it arrived.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>~~~~~~</p>
</div><p>“Venus in Leo. 'Hard time bouncing back after a breakup, especially if your pride is wounded.' Ugh. Me,” Emma was scrolling through her phone. “Oh Dani, you have to, it's so fun. I can see in your eyes you think it's dumb, but it's great, I swear.”</p><p>“I believe you.”</p><p>“Dani, come <em>ooon.</em>” She and Emma had been sprawled out on the couch for hours already, and they had woken up at eleven. They were taking a little break between seasons two and three to customize their poke bowl delivery, but somewhere between talking about whether to get a side of gyoza and actually completing the order, Emma had opened up her astrology app. “It's so easy. Do you know when you were born?”</p><p>“If I do this, can we finally get food?” she asked, half-laughing.</p><p>“Yes. Yes! I'll pay for the gyoza. Now,” she tapped her screen a few times, “St. Louis...?”</p><p>“It was actually a hospital in Detroit, before my dad got relocated for his job. Uh, mid-afternoon, I think? My mom always sends a happy birthday message close to my birth time.”</p><p>“Can you text her? The time has to be pretty exact, otherwise a lot of them could be messed up. We'll still get your moon sign, though.”</p><p>“Can't these things, like, sell your information? 'Place of birth' is one of the five security questions every password reset has.”</p><p>“Well, I mean, probably, but if someone really wanted it, it would be easy to find and buy no matter what.”</p><p>“Wow, well when you put it like that.” Emma playfully slapped her arm.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>~~~~~~</p>
</div><p>“I think there will always be things I don't understand having not grown up here,” Dani says. Siv always gave her her undivided attention when they spoke. In her white receiving room, knees nearly touching, it made Dani feel like the only other person in the world.</p><p>“Like what, dear one?”</p><p>“Fire,” she said, remembering. Feeling. “We purge all that is unholy and all that is dead, and yet those two things are not the same.”</p><p>“Fire is not simply a purging and a cleansing.” Siv raises her finger, equidistant between their two faces, a scant few inches that makes Dani's eyes half-cross. “Consider a fire in a fire place. What do you feel from that?”</p><p>“Comfort,” Dani replies. “Warmth. Coziness?” Siv smiles at this.</p><p>“What else?”</p><p>Dani conjures the vision of a crackling fire in a living room in a house in Minnesota. The grate is open, and the edges of logs are a vibrant candy orange that beckons her fingers, though she knows to resist.</p><p>“Embrace. A call to it.” Siv's eyes twinkle.</p><p>“Yes. The duality of wanting to reach your hand into a fire while knowing that it will burn you away. You are yet young, and it may take time to accept these two properties. They live in an eternal tension but are also binded to each other. Like the core - the nucleus? - of an atom. The fire takes in all. It equalizes and re-cycles, and there is a human longing for that.”</p><p>Dani nods, but all she can think of is the peach. Of the likeness captured in Pelle's sketchbook as it's transformed by a process that is not fire.</p><p>“You doubt still. It is understandable. Perhaps it is I that neglects what you need to hear to learn.” Siv's pain at her perceived failings flood Dani, hurting her. She shakes her head fiercely.</p><p>“No,” she assures, “I will learn. I want to learn.”</p><p>“We walk freely into the fire, Dani – no, don't deny it! I know this is what you think of – we walk freely, so that like a sheaf of ripe wheat, we may be consumed while we are needed. While our spiritual nutrients can still offer up something to the everything, before the rot takes our bodies and minds away against our will.”</p><p>The way Siv says it, so kind and longing and full of enraptured faith, directly to Dani for her to hear, it cannot be anything but true. But Dani feels more troubled than ever. Her next words will be tentative.</p><p>“But it leaves no room for the ecstasy of decay.” She knows not where the words come from, only that they come from somewhere within her. A place that is true.</p><p>In an instant, the Siv who was attempting to kindly lead her thoughts and humor her doubts shutters.</p><p>“There is no ecstasy in decay, Dani.”</p><p>The room grows cold and tense in a way Dani hasn't felt since New York. Since she had no ties nor tethers to anything. The fairy tale has taken a frightening turn. The trip has veered away from the rapture of ego death. Without a trace of gentleness, Siv rises, strides to the wall, and yanks open a window.</p><p>“Stand, Dani. Come here.” There in no warmth in her voice. Dani can't feel the golden waves on her eardrums or skin. She approaches, and she feels trepidation. “Look,” Siv points and Dani's eyes follow out to the Main Hall. “What do you see?”</p><p>“I-I-I do not... I do not know what you ask of me, grandmother.”</p><p>“What you see,” she says, ignoring Dani's pained stutters, “is a fresh coat of paint. Wood replaced every twenty years.”</p><p>The Main Hall, which in her naivety Dani had thought of as eerily new-looking upon her Midsommar arrival a year ago, still shines like a new penny. The white paint is nearly fluorescent in the noonday sunshine.</p><p>“What happens to the murals? They tell our story.”</p><p>“The murals,” Siv says, “Painting the murals is a meditative act. Those of an artistic bent, like your brother Pelle, welcome the opportunity to engage in it. They will create them and become them. What would we be, anyway, if we did not pass down our way of life to the younger generation?”</p><p>“Every twenty years?” As she says it back to Siv, the number scratches at the inside of her skull.</p><p>“Yes. And so our buildings do not rot either. They are holy and alive with us.”</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>~~~~~~</p>
</div><p>Arne is in the temple, where he always has been. Dani realizes that this must be the oldest building, though the stain in its wooden walls has barely begun to mellow to gray.</p><p>He is seventy-two and straight-backed. He will never experience the grass reaching into his hands and taking sustenance from his body.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>~~~~~~</p>
</div><p>Pelle stays out with her as the sun dips down past midnight, sensing her unease. A few other youths sit scattered on the green as the dew begins to form, soaking into Dani's skirt. She traces Laguz with her finger in the yielding grass. She sees the inside of a car. A minivan. Summer sun falls on the laps of young men laughing, but one is quietly focused.</p><p>“Josh was reading that book. About Nazis using runes in their symbology.” If Pelle is surprised at her mention of those others who were brought here, he does his best not to betray it to her.</p><p>“Yes,” Pelle says. The annoyance in his voice is less guarded. “And those runes existed before they stole them and still exist after too.”</p><p>“You're right. Of course, you're right,” Dani says, talking him down, familiar with the ritual of backing away from a sore subject and placating. Pelle's spine goes rigid.</p><p>“Oh, Dani, no, I didn't mean to- it's just, being compared to Nazis. You know, it's not exactly-”</p><p>“No, I know. I know how that sounded and you're right to be upset by my saying it. Okay? I get what you're saying. It's like a manji and a swastika. A symbol that existed before and still exists after.”</p><p>Everything about his expression indicates that he wants to press further, and the moment stretches past the point of comfort. His stubbornness has caught against her equally palpable reluctance to have a confrontation.</p><p>“I just,” he ventures, “I just don't want you to see the Hårga as a scary thing. We want you to feel like this is your home. And not just a home, like out there where any bunch of people living together and sharing blood call it that, but a good home. A safe home.”</p><p>Somewhere in the middle of what he was saying, one of her hands had ended up clasped between his, and his body heat enters her and mingles with her own.</p><p>“I do see you as my home.”</p><p>Pelle rests his head on her neck, and his golden hair and beard tickle her. The moisture of his breath spreads across her collarbone. On each inhale, the night air cools it into condensation, but each time, before she grows too cold, another breath warms her.</p><p>Dani traces Ihwaz and Thurisaz with her free hand.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>~~~~~~</p>
</div><p>Christian was squatting in the white gravel, typing notes on a tablet faster than Dani thought possible. She was happy to accompany him on the trip, even if it would've been nice to be spending a little more time with each other. She chided herself. It was first and foremost for research, after all. She couldn't hold it against him, when this would end up being his thesis topic. She didn't want to be selfish.</p><p>“Ice,” she said, reading the sign planted next to the wooden fence that marks the boundary that neither she nor Christian are allowed to cross. It appears to only have one line in English for every paragraph that's left untranslated.</p><p>“Ee-say,” supplied a stranger in traditional blue and white clothing beside her.</p><p>“Oh! Thanks.” He smiled and bowed his head, then went back to sweeping away any leaves that had decided to fall onto the path.</p><p>The shrines within the fence look like they had just been built. It was five years ago, according to Christian. Another fifteen, and these ones would be gone again. It made her feel heavy in a way she couldn't explain.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>~~~~~~</p>
</div><p>Pelle comes to her that night. She can feel his sparks of nervousness and anticipation even through the veil of sleep for how strong and tied to her they are.</p><p>He lays a hand on her covers, touching her arm.</p><p>“Follow me outside in ten minutes.”</p><p>When she does, she spots him, a lone figure in a dark no darker than predawn light, beside the temple.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, trying too hard to sound casual.</p><p>“Hey,” she responds. “So, secret late night rendezvous?”</p><p>“Something like that.” The lack of joking response changes the quality of the air. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about.”</p><p>“Oh. Um, okay.” A chorus of katydids has taken up their song. Pelle turns away to look at the temple.</p><p>“My parents,” he begins, and then stops. “This is where my parents died.” His grief gathers around him, weighing down his shoulders and head. “Eighteen years ago, now.”</p><p>“Pelle...” Dani opens herself to how he feels. There is a deep sadness, though she can detect an undercurrent of something else.</p><p>“But I always had my family to share those feelings with. I was never abandoned, Dani, even though I missed them all the time.”</p><p>“They made you feel held.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>The silence stretches.</p><p>“I ask something of Siv. Maybe I should have ask you first, but – I was scared to be disappointed before I heard what she said.”</p><p>Dani's tongue feels heavy when she responds, “What did you ask?”</p><p>“I ask that she compare our stars.”</p><p>A beat. The response was not what she had expected.</p><p>“Oh. Did she tell you the results?”</p><p>“Not, um, not yet. She said it can take time to do the in depth reading.”</p><p>Dani already knows that the elders only use sun signs to determine the most basic compatibility. Whether mating should be considered at all. More analysis was needed to determine when the rite should occur or whether a relationship or marriage were a possibility.</p><p>“I'm sorry. I really should have said it to you first.”</p><p>“It's okay. You're telling me now.” Pelle lets out a tiny sigh of relief.</p><p>“You coming here was fate. Maybe I flatter myself in hoping it was my fate.”</p><p>They haven't kissed a second time. Sometimes, Dani wonders if the first time happened at all, or if it was just the psychedelic haze of her imagination. As real as the grass growing through her wooden feet.</p><p>“Can I ask for something of you?”</p><p>“Yes, Dani. Anything.”</p><p>She braces herself.</p><p>“It's for after I die.” He nods, solemn. “Could you make sure that I don't go into the eternal fire?”</p><p>Pelle looks stunned, he's near turned to stone. Of course, this is the last thing he would expect. Not the casual mention of her own death, no, never that. Something much worse.</p><p>“I-I don't understand why you ask me this. If you don't go to the Rotvälta, you won't be with the family anymore.” His eyes are wide and wild. ”You won't be special anymore!”</p><p>”I'm sorry. You're right. Forget I said anything.”</p><p>”Dani, I, for one thing, I'm older than you. I don't think I can promise that.”</p><p>”I know! … I know. Pelle, it's okay.”</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>~~~~~~</p>
</div><p>Dani has avoided the path to the cliffs until now. There is no reason for her to go there any other day, but she still knows she has avoided it. Having finally acknowledged it, she is shamed.</p><p>The gravel is pure white, and evokes a memory in her. A journey from before. Another place. Another lifetime.</p><p>Arne floats above them, his path leading up, as theirs filters down. Sten is ahead of her with about five others between them. He holds the cudgel with the somber delicacy of a venerated object.</p><p>As they arrive and Siv begins to interpret the <em>Rubi Radr</em>, Dani watches the wind stir Arne's gray hair on the clifftop. She wonders who will keep the temple now, and when it will be burned down next. She wonders who has been trained to rebuild it. She thinks of Pelle's parents.</p><p>Energy simmers as they hum, and the nature of reality shifts. The divine is very close now. Underneath it, Dani feels the scratching in her skull again.</p><p>Arne walks to the edge of the cliff, his hands all red. The humming has become singing now, and she feels the beginning of the crescendo vibrate in her chest. She feels eyes on her. It is Siv, watching. Assessing her.</p><p>Dani closes her own, knowing when the harmony comes together and crescendo reaches its height, she will open them. There is a picture sleeping behind her eyes, from a long time ago. White gravel. Fresh wood. A fence to keep out the profane.</p><p>The voices start to form a synthesis, thrumming with excitement, fear, and elation. It's a place she's been before. She opens her eyes. Arne has raised his arms to the heavens. He leaps. He's falling.</p><p>And then, the spell broke, and all Dani could see were the tomato seed teeth sprayed out from his mouth.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>~~~~~~</p>
</div><p>Dani allowed herself to fall away from the group, knowing they would all act as witnesses to the hours-long process of cremation. There wasn't much for her to take, just her phone that would remain off until she was far enough away that it didn't matter if tracking software had been installed.</p><p>It was under her bed. She made sure not to turn her back to the door as she searched underneath it. When a silhouette appeared in the doorway, it did not take her on unawares.</p><p>“Dani,” came a concerned voice. “I thought you might be here. A year is a short time to get used to a new way of life, especially one that seems so extreme compared to the old one.”</p><p>Pelle walked over to her, holding up a familiar sachet of calming herbs. She had used her old one frequently, until the effect had worn off.</p><p>“Let's sit on the bed, yes? I'll sit with you.”</p><p>She had no choice but to agree, to tamp down on any worry lest he feel it. He sat beside her and took a deep inhale from the sachet cradled in his palm. Dani took it, breathing in, but forcing the breath down through where her nose and mouth connected before it hit her lungs.</p><p>“I told you about my parents here,” he recalled, his voice vibrating in a way that hadn't been perceptible to her a year ago. She took his hand and squeezed.</p><p>“Lately, I've been wishing every night that fire had never happened.” He shook his head.</p><p>“It happened because it needed to. And I can't pretend that I can somehow wake up as a little boy and it won't have.”</p><p>“Why did it need to?” Control, control, control. Dani couldn't let him hear the heresy that colored her words.</p><p>“You know why. To keep the Hårga alive. To keep away the spoil.”</p><p>“And the... spoil will enter if the buildings aren't reconstructed every twenty years? That's why they died, Pelle? To burn down the temple so it could be rebuilt?”</p><p>“I know. I know that it sounds not so reasonable to you now, and you just want that I didn't have to feel so much pain,” he said. “But it <em>had</em> to be reborn. Our temple,” he suddenly sounded afraid, “Our temple, most of all.”</p><p>“But every twenty years. It just seems like an oddly specific number.”</p><p>“You don't understand. Siv, she told me you don't understand yet. When I was so sad and hurting, she told me why it had to be. That's why you can say these cruel things, even though you know they're hurting me.” She bit the inside of her cheek. He was going further and further away.</p><p>“You took that same class. That's where you met him.”</p><p>“I don't- what are you saying, Dani?”</p><p>“Back in New York. That's where you met Christian. He told me he met a Swedish guy who seemed pretty alright in his Shinto class.”</p><p>“I don't understand,” he said, sounding desperate. “Dani, just tell me direct what you're trying to say.”</p><p>“Rebuilding every twenty years. Could always be convergent practices, but it's an odd coincidence.” She saw the shift in his eyes. He was no longer trying to be open.</p><p>“Stop it.”</p><p>“Ise Shrine in Japan is rebuilt every twenty years, Pelle. For purification. Christian thought about doing his thesis on it for a while. We took a trip there, him and me.”</p><p>“<em>Stop it</em>.” But she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. The words started falling from her mouth too quickly.</p><p>“And natal charts, Pelle? Those only came to Northern Europe with Christianity. You know that, though. It's part of the – what did you call it? – theatrics. I know you see it, too. I saw the way you reacted to your sisters putting iron under baby Ebbe's pillow the other night.”</p><p>“<em>So what?!</em>” He was so loud that for a moment, Dani feared they had only seconds left before someone came in. “So ideas are brought back from pilgrimage! How could they not be? That doesn't make our traditions not real! Why are you doing this?”</p><p>Dani closed her mouth. Why <em>was</em> she doing this? She should have just reassured Pelle she was fine and sent him on his way so she could leave. Now he knew all the things she had bitten her tongue over.</p><p>“Why are you being so cruel?”</p><p>“I'm sorry,” and she meant it. For his sake. For her sake. She couldn't cry. She had no right to cry.</p><p>“You cannot leave Dani,” he said, voice thick with emotion. But he had to know that no one who said the things she had said would stay. Could stay, even if they wanted to.</p><p>“I have to,” she said, trying now to sound gentle.</p><p>“You don't! I promise, you don't. I won't tell anyone you said any of this and all will be okay. You're family, Dani. I know that's why you want to stay here. Maybe you're not so sure about everything else, but the family is the most important thing.”</p><p>Maybe so, but she already had the rot in her, the worms that whispered little words and ate away and broke through the skin.</p><p>“Whether I don't want to leave or not, I am. It is what it is.”</p><p>“No. Dani, you cannot. I don't want you to be hurt. Out there, they're lost. All they do is hurt you, Dani, you've seen them.”</p><p>“Out there, they'll hurt me. And you won't.”</p><p>“No, Dani. I don't want to hurt you.”</p><p>“You don't want to hurt me, or you won't hurt me?”</p><p>“Dani...” His eyes and nose and cheeks were bright red. She didn't know what to say. She just had to get away. “Dani, you said I was your family.”</p><p>“There's more to the family than just you and me.”</p><p>“I'll vouch for you. I'll explain. You can trust me. All will be okay. Just trust me.”</p><p>She couldn't feel it, but she could see that he believed it. See it in the resolute, almost manic brightness in his blue eyes, in the set of his shoulders, in the excited flyaway hairs. She didn't see it in his embroidered shirt or woven shoes.</p><p>“I have to go now.”</p><p>“Dani, please don't. <em>Please</em> don't. I am begging you, do you hear me? Don't you feel that I'm not lying?” Their hands were still connected, and Dani did start crying then, because she couldn't feel it. She couldn't feel Pelle or Karin or Ulla or Arne or Siv or anyone anymore. She couldn't bear it. Worse a hundred fold than the aloneness of the tubes and Terri's yellow t-shirt and the sense that Christian wanted to care but couldn't bring himself to do it fully.</p><p>But the spell was broken, and she didn't know how to fall under it again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What's makes a cult a cult? What makes a religion a religion? It's that patina of history, baybay. I totally headcanon the Hårga only existing since the 1960s. They didn't weather the set pieces/buildings basically at all, which inspired this whole thing. I'm pretty sure Ari Aster has said they're supposed to have done the ritual before, so I know it contradicts extra-textual canon. I'm fine with that lol</p><p>I just watched the movie for the first time a couple days ago. Very, very solid! I'm already ready to see the director's cut haha. If anyone has any recommendations for fanfiction where the Hårga feel pretty sinister, please let me know. I'm very into wanting to be scared lately. Doubly so if it synthesizes romance or eroticism into it seamlessly</p></blockquote></div></div>
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